


Foal

by PeaceHeather



Series: Odin's Son, Tyr's Son [2]
Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Baby Horses are Cute, Feels, Gen, Horses, I'm Sorry, Loki Does What He Wants, Loki Gets a Hug, Loki Needs a Hug, all the feels, behold the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 00:36:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6099109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeaceHeather/pseuds/PeaceHeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is keeping secrets from Tyr, but eventually all secrets come out into the open. Loki learns that Tyr's loyalty to his son is no mere lip service.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Patterns of concern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, my first ever series! Continuing on in the _Grievance_ 'verse, this takes place a few months after the events of that story. It won't be terribly long (she says naively), but I hope you'll enjoy it just the same.

It was hard for Loki to trust, right now, but he wanted to. He wanted to believe Tyr when he promised that things would be better from this moment forth. Wanted to trust his mother when she said that she had seen glimpses of the future, and that it was bright. Wanted  to believe his teachers, who told him that he was skilled and more than that, that he was worthy of the additional instruction and attention that they wanted to give him.

He wanted to believe that, but it was difficult to allow himself to do so. Loki had trusted in the past, after all—trusted the people who should have been by his side without fail, the people in whom he ought to have had complete faith—and those people had broken that trust. Sometimes they'd broken it accidentally, through thoughtlessness. Sometimes it had been through inaction, standing aside and watching when he'd desperately needed an ally to step forward and aid him.

At least once, that trust had been broken deliberately, maliciously, and with vindictive glee.

Tyr… if Loki were honest with himself, he truly couldn't say that he believed Tyr to be that malicious. The general didn't raise his voice with Loki, and had never raised a hand except to pat him on the back, or to reach out and offer reassurance. Loki cherished those moments, those little touches. Tyr had a reputation throughout Asgard of being level-headed and patient, both on and off the battlefield; everyone knew that he spoke the truth and kept his promises.

From everything Loki had seen since moving into Tyr's home, that reputation did not change behind closed doors.

And yet.

Loki was fairly certain that if Tyr ever found out what his new son were up to, the old soldier would be _furious_.

* * *

It was hard for Loki to trust, right now, but Tyr could understand that. He'd been through too much, seen too much upheaval, and was in a strange place with new people and new rules to learn. From the perspective of an abused adolescent, there was an entire new, unspoken code to discover, and a hope that he could survive until he learned how things were supposed to work in his new home.

Still, he seemed to be settling in well enough. He was quiet but not fearful when they sat down to private meals together; he seemed to enjoy the conversations they had over tafl, every few evenings. His instructors spoke well of him; there were gaps in some of his lessons, but nothing insurmountable, and he made up for the losses quickly. The boy had even made a friend after a couple of weeks, a lad named Fandral, the son of a baker whom Tyr knew by reputation.

Loki positively glowed if given a little praise, and if he seemed perhaps too eager to please, well, time would cure that soon enough. He was an adolescent, no matter what he had endured so far in his life; if the boy didn't enter a rebellious phase sooner or later, then Tyr would begin to grow concerned, but for now, all was mostly well.

Perhaps the only dark spot on Loki's record was a habit Tyr had begun to notice after about the third month they had lived together. The first time the boy had vanished, he'd returned saying that he had wished to explore Vingólf-town and that he hadn't wanted to disturb Tyr to ask permission. He had at least told Hoenir where he was going, so that was fine.

But a month later, he'd gone again. And the third month, once more. There was a pattern emerging, here, and the pieces did not quite fit. Loki always left when the nebula was brightest in the sky. Always vanished for several hours at a time. Always presented himself for dinner wearing a fresh outfit different from what he'd worn upon leaving.

Always had a different answer when Tyr asked what he'd been up to that day… and always betrayed some hint of tension or nervousness, no matter how subtle the tell. If Tyr didn't have millennia of experience dealing with young men of Loki's age range, he might have missed the slightly faster blinking, the tight set of his shoulders, or the way he would flick the fingertips of his right hand in sequence, over and over again while he spoke.

Whatever he was up to, Tyr had heard no reports of harm coming to anyone surrounding him. He would let it go for the time being, but he could afford to be patient. He would watch, and wait, and see what developed.

* * *

"How were your lessons today?" Tyr asked over dinner one evening.

"They went well enough, sir," was Loki's reply. "Master Egil's monotone manner of speaking has not improved, but no one fell asleep today."

"Heh." The general cut another slice of roast and lifted it onto his plate. "You do not find the topic itself boring, from what you've told me."

"No, sir; I think that Master Egil believes the culture and habits of Alfheim to be… titillating? And so he hopes to discourage us from inquiring into the details by making the lessons sound as tedious as possible."

"That does not seem to work with you," Tyr observed.

Loki chuckled. "Nor anyone else; I looked up the biography of the leader of the Fourteenth Triumvirate… and then I told everyone else what I'd discovered. Suddenly _everyone_ wanted to visit the royal libraries, and hold evening study sessions to learn more."

Tyr was surprised into a laugh. "I expect when Master Egil finds out, he will be uncertain whether to be appalled or thrilled to have such diligent students in his class," he said.

Loki grinned, and buttered another slice of bread.

"I notice you're sleeping better," Tyr went on, and the boy sobered somewhat.

"A little better, yes, sir. I'm sorry to keep waking you."

"That doesn't bother me in the slightest, my son," he said, not missing the way the boy ducked his head to hide a smile, the way he often did when Tyr called him that. "It only pleases me that you are beginning to heal from what was done to you, before."

"Thank you, sir."

Tyr waited, but Loki did not seem inclined to continue the topic; he hadn't yet, but the general always wanted to leave the option for him to open up about his nightmares, if he wanted. Instead, he merely piled his plate high with another helping of everything; Tyr's lip quirked in amusement.

"It seems Olief was right about sorcerers eating even more than soldiers," he remarked.

"I didn't used to require so much," Loki admitted, "or at least, I ignored it when I did feel such hunger. But Seidmadr Mimir has had me practicing foundational exercises daily, and it seems that using the seidr is more draining than I had ever realized."

"I would assume that it is something like training the body to perform a maneuver," Tyr suggested. "In that one's strength grows over time?"

"I assume so," said Loki. "I haven't noticed a difference yet, but Seidmadr Mimir says he wants me to reach a point where I am able to perform these exercises without thinking. So that I can do them when I am half asleep, or injured, or… or anything like that."

"He means to train you as a combat sorcerer, then?"

Loki shrugged. "It is a little early to say, I think. The foundational exercises are meant to be good preparation for all the different disciplines. But we're pretty sure I don't have much affinity for healing magic, in any case." He filled his mouth with greens and chewed thoughtfully, looking at the ceiling. "I suppose I might be able to perform some basic aid—straightening a limb or holding blood inside where it belongs, that sort of thing—but actually healing the tissues…" He shrugged again, a little helplessly, and took another bite.

Tyr nodded, and they ate in silence for a few minutes. The general waited until he'd polished off his roast, and Loki was beginning to slow down, before he spoke up again.

"The nebula is growing brighter again," he said. "Will you be exploring Vingólf-town again soon?"

Loki froze for an instant, so abruptly that it was nearly a flinch, before he forced himself to relax and reach for his drink. "I hadn't really thought about it," he said smoothly, and Tyr knew he lied simply because the words were too calm to match his body's tells. "But Thor has been pestering me to go riding with him, so I think perhaps I will do that in a few days."

Well, that at least seemed plausible. "Has he been giving you any trouble?" Tyr asked. "Pressuring you to spend more time with him than you are comfortable with, that sort of thing?"

"No, sir, not really."

"Mm. I'm glad to hear it. I hope you have an enjoyable outing, then."

"Thank you, sir."

* * *

"Hello, weaponsmaster."

"Your Highness," greeted Tyr. "How fare you today?"

"I am well, weaponsmaster, thank you," said Thor. "I was hoping to see Loki."

Well, well. Tyr had thought Loki was already with his older brother; riding, as he had said he would do a few days ago.

"I am afraid he went out, earlier," he said aloud. "Exploring the town below, I believe. Perhaps you will be able to find him in the market there."

"Thank you, weaponsmaster." Thor gave a little salute, not much given that he was a prince himself, but Tyr still appreciated the gesture. "May I ask… does he fare well? With you? He _seems_ well, but my brother…"

"He improves daily, Your Highness," Tyr replied. At Thor's worried expression, he went on, "As you might imagine, what happened to him at the hands of the dwarfs caused him several nights of uneasy sleep. But those nights are passing and he rests well, now. He enjoys his studies and is making friends here. He fares well."

There was a flicker of jealousy across the young prince's face for an instant, and Tyr narrowed his eyes at the sight of it. "Surely you do not resent the notion of your brother making friends, Your Highness?"

"No! Of course not, weaponsmaster." Thor glanced away, a little shamefaced now. "It's only… I used to be his closest companion. I miss that."

Tyr nodded. "It only makes sense that you would. His fostering here has meant changes for you both. But what of you, Your Highness? Is all well with you?"

"It… it is, yes," said the prince. "Although things are… much changed, in our household. _Mother_ is much changed! She was always so… ladylike, before. And now she—it is as if someone took away the mother I knew and replaced her with a dragon in Aesir form. She glares at Father, and sometimes I hear them argue now, when they think I am elsewhere and will not hear. I think she would breathe fire if she could… she even has a hoard now, with the way she trains Sif but will allow no one to see," he finished sullenly.

"Odin was unfair with your brother, you know that," said Tyr.

"Aye." The older boy folded his arms, still clearly unhappy.

"It appears that he was unfair with your mother, as well," said Tyr gently. "Not cruel—not like he was with Loki. But your mother was not always free to speak her mind, and certainly was not free to be the shield maiden she had sworn to be; and now that she has the freedom, she is choosing to use it. That is no bad thing, for all that it raises the tension in your family. I am sorry that you are caught in the middle, though."

"It's hard not to see all their fighting as Loki's fault, somehow," said Thor. He sighed gustily. "I know that it isn't. I do know, weaponsmaster. But Father has taught us to blame Loki for many things, and I am still trying to break the habit."

"I can understand that. It is good of you to remember that he is not responsible for his parents' behavior, and never was," said Tyr. He clapped a hand onto the boy's shoulder, reassuringly. "Neither are you, in case you needed reminding."

"Thank you, weaponsmaster."

* * *

Tyr sent the boy on his way with a discreet invitation to come and visit anytime he needed to get away from the tension in the private wing of the royal palace.

After a moment's thought, the general went to seek out Mimir. The seidmadr had chosen more modest quarters than Tyr would have expected, but they were still spacious enough to house an impressive collection of books, paraphernalia, and strange artifacts whose purpose Tyr couldn't even begin to guess at. There was a rumor among the servants that the man kept a severed head preserved in a jar of liquor, and spoke to it from time to time. Tyr honestly didn't want to know, but wouldn't be surprised. Sorcerers were a strange lot, without even trying to be.

Mimir's door was open, so Tyr tapped on the frame. "May I come in?"

"Ah, General. Of course." Mimir set his book aside and stood. "May I offer you a drink? I am afraid it is only tea, but it was just brewed a moment ago."

"If it is not an inconvenience to you, the tea will be fine."

Tyr watched as the old man moved, his long white braid barely twitching with each step as elegant hands performed the necessary tasks. "You're here to discuss Loki, I presume," he said, pulling the kettle off the fire to pour.

"A bit predictable, I suppose," Tyr shrugged.

"The boy is important to you. I appreciate that. The stars know he's needed someone to give a damn about his wellbeing. Honey?"

"Please."

"So." Mimir passed the general's mug over and returned to his seat, picking up his own mug in both hands. "What is it you wish to know?"

Tyr pressed his lips together in thought. "Has anything seemed… amiss, with him recently? Any unusual behavior?"

"Nothing that I can think of," mused the seidmadr. "Bear in mind, we do not know one another well quite yet. But he is respectful of me, attentive in his lessons… indeed, it is difficult sometimes to chase him off when the lesson is complete."

"Heh. I'm not surprised."

Mimir chuckled dryly before taking a sip of his tea. "There is one thing," he said. "I would not have considered it to be worth mentioning if you hadn't specifically asked."

"Oh?"

"It isn't much, really," said Mimir. "Just that earlier today, instead of staying late as he so often does, Loki left immediately after the lesson ended. No extra questions, no lingering for conversation. If anything, he seemed to want to leave early, which is most unlike him."

"He has a pattern of vanishing when the nebula is at its brightest," Tyr confessed. "And when I asked him about it a few days ago, he claimed that he planned to go riding with Thor today. Yet His Highness was just here, looking for his brother, and I do not believe that they merely had not crossed paths."

"You believe he is hiding something."

"I am sure of it," said Tyr; "my only question at this point is how concerned I ought to be about it."

"Hmm," mused the seidmadr. "He is beginning to trust us, slowly; while I could probably seek him out with my seidr, I would prefer not to spy on him."

"That is understandable, but I am concerned that simply asking him what he is about will cause him to lie, and compound the problem. Whatever it is, he must feel he needs to keep it from us, or obviously, he would not do so. My only concern is whether or not he is engaging in some activity that could bring harm down upon him, or anyone else in my household."

Mimir hummed again thoughtfully, staring off into space, before he shook himself. "Give me half a moment, General," he said, standing and moving to one of his shelves. He pulled out a small pouch and stepped across to his hearth, where he reached into the pouch and tossed a pinch of powder into the flames. The powder hissed and popped as it caught, and for an instant, the flames changed color, white and blue and green before settling back into their normal appearance.

"Interesting," said Mimir.

Tyr raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

"The boy's seidr is not all contained in one place as it should be. He's enchanted something, I would guess, and the enchantment pulls on his magic. I might be able to locate whatever it is he's enchanted, if you like. We would not be spying on the boy at all, only finding the thing he has worked his magic upon."

"Is it harmful?" asked Tyr. "He doesn't strike me as the sort of boy to cast curses, but I wish to examine all the options, for his sake."

"The color of the flames suggests the opposite, actually," said Mimir. "Health and blessing magic. Quite strong, but then, everything the boy does tends to be quite strong. If he can get a handle on his power and wield it like a blade instead of a bludgeon, he'll be capable of some truly amazing feats." Then Mimir tilted his head, acknowledging, "Well, he already is, to be honest, but I try not to let him know that too often, lest he become reckless or arrogant, and endanger himself."

Tyr rubbed at his chin, thinking it through, then shook his head. "Whatever it is, it isn't harmful. I've no need to pry into the boy's private affairs as long as he is not causing any trouble." He finished his mug of tea in one quick gulp and then stood. "Thank you for the consultation, Seidmadr."

"Of course. I shall keep an eye on him, then; make sure he doesn't overextend himself with whatever this is. Strictly speaking, he shouldn't be using any magic outside of my supervision, but if he has been coming and going for a few months now, as you say, then it's possible he created this enchantment before we met, while he was teaching himself." The older man shook his head. "Some of the things he was getting into… Well. No matter. I shall monitor him when he is with me, and keep an eye remotely on the flow of his seidr. I assume you would want me to alert you should anything change."

"You assume correctly," said Tyr. "Of course now I must decide whether or not to confront him with what we have learned."

"I wouldn't," said Mimir. "If you don't mind my presumption in saying. He is causing no harm, and I've noticed that he values his privacy—not having to look over his shoulder every few minutes in fear of what we might do to him."

"I've noticed the same," said Tyr. Indeed, the boy _very much_ valued his privacy, keeping the door to his rooms locked much of the time. Whenever Tyr visited, the books were closed and papers put away carefully so that no one could see them. It gave the impression that Loki was hiding something he shouldn't be doing, but Tyr had seen such behavior before. Abused children protected everything about themselves that they possibly could. In any case, Tyr had already promised the boy that his boundaries would be respected, and he had no reason to break that promise now.

"Thank you again, Seidmadr," he said, bowing. "I will leave you to your work. Will we see you this evening at dinner?"

"Of course."

Tyr left, his heart perhaps lightened, but his thoughts still troubled for the boy's sake.


	2. It all unravels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki has been trying to hide his secret with lies and half-truths, but it's coming out now whether he likes it or not.

That night over dinner, Tyr brought up his concerns.

"Thor came to Vingólf today," he remarked, in between bites of his meal. Loki sat between him and Mimir at the table, in a fresh outfit. "He was looking for you."

"Oh." The boy's hands vanished beneath the edge of the table. "Did he say why?"

"He misses his brother, I expect." Tyr caught his eye, hiding his concern when Loki seemed to cringe. "You had mentioned that you planned to go riding with him today," he reminded him gently.

Loki swallowed, but did not look away. "I must have forgotten," he said after a moment. "I shall have to apologize… make it up to him."

"I wondered if that might be the case," said Tyr, and watched as Loki seemed to relax minutely. "Since you often explore Vingólf-town when you go out, I sent him toward the market to look for you. I take it you did not cross paths."

At the word "market", the boy tensed up all over again. What could he be hiding, and why would he think it such a frightful thing to reveal? "Er. No, sir," he replied. "I did not see him."

"Mm. Well, no matter. Perhaps another time."

"Yes, sir," said Loki, and Tyr dropped the subject.

He noticed, however, that Mimir had been watching their conversation, and was now looking to Tyr with a single raised eyebrow. When Loki bent over his soup, Tyr offered a minute, one-shouldered shrug.

All they could do, short of frightening the boy back into his shell, was watch and wait.

* * *

A couple of weeks later, the pattern changed.

Loki began disappearing more frequently, every few days, it seemed. Mimir remarked on it one evening while they waited for the boy to return.

"I mentioned to him that he seemed less interested in our lessons than before, with the way he kept leaving immediately after we finished." He shook his head and reached for his brandy. "One would have thought I had just threatened to throw him out on his ear, had they seen his face in that moment."

Tyr shook his head in sympathy. "So what did you do?"

"Reassured him, of course," said the seidmadr. "Or tried to, at any rate. I told him I was worried for him, and that his sudden habit of vanishing made me wonder if anything was wrong. I asked him if things had changed between him and you, General; knowing that he has no cause to fear you, of course."

"I thank you for that, at least," said Tyr. "How did he respond?"

"He didn't, really." Mimir swirled the brandy in his glass, watching the play of torchlight across the crystal. "That is to say, he denied that anything was wrong between the two of you, but he did not open up any further than that. I reminded him that as his mentor, he could come to me with anything that troubled him, but all he did was thank me and leave as soon as it was polite to do so."

"I'll give him one thing," said Tyr; "when the boy doesn't wish to speak, nothing will pry the words out of him, not humor nor more serious methods of persuasion."

"It is as you have told me before, General; he is merely slow to trust. I am sure that once he feels safe, he will tell us whatever we wish to know."

"I hope so." Tyr swallowed the last of his drink with a grimace. "I dislike the keeping of secrets within my own house, even if I recognize the value in letting Loki have them. I have a strong wish to see these things revealed, once and for all."

* * *

Tyr's worry only increased when Loki's tutors told Tyr that the boy had missed an entire day of lessons. "We thought perhaps he was ill, General, and wished to extend our wishes for a swift recovery. But your valet, Master Hoenir, says otherwise."

"Indeed," said Tyr. "I shall do my best to uncover the mystery, and have him back in your classes by tomorrow."

"Oh, there's no need," said Mistress Raghild. "Or at least, not right away. His Highness has been studying ahead, and completing extra assignments. He even made arrangements with young Fandral to have his work delivered today, even though he could not be present." She laughed a little. "He included a list of questions he had over chapters the rest of the class has not yet seen. It would be several days at least before he would actually have fallen behind."

Tyr couldn't help but smile, one lip quirking up at the corner as he shook his head in amusement. His newest foster son was thorough, Tyr had to give him that. Whatever mischief he might be planning, he'd thought it through carefully.

There was little for Tyr to do but thank the teacher for her information, and wait until he saw the boy again in the evening.

* * *

"May I ask why you avoided your lessons today, Loki?" he asked. The tafl pieces clicked as he laid out the board for their game. "Your teachers thought you had taken ill."

Loki didn't answer, and Tyr looked up from the board to see him chewing one lip fretfully.

"Loki?"

"It's… it is nothing of consequence," he said, and Tyr just gave him a look, conveying all his skepticism without saying a word. "I—I wanted to surprise Mother. With a gift. I thought to take the day searching Vingólf market and, and commissioning a piece for her."

"And you needed the entire day for this?"

"I made sure to send my lessons to the teachers," he began defensively, but Tyr held up a hand and he stopped immediately.

"They told me. You are not in trouble for that. But I am concerned for you, my son. You have been disappearing, and lying to me about where you go and what you do."

"I'm not—"

"Loki."

The boy looked down and away, chewing his lip and hunching his shoulders.

"Loki. Would you look at me, please?" His foster son tensed even further, and Tyr held back a grimace. "I am not angry with you," he repeated. "So far as I have been able to tell in my inquiries, you are not involved in anything harmful, to yourself or to anyone else. You are not a malicious boy. I have little to be angry about. But I am worried," he went on, as Loki finally looked up. "Whatever it is you are hiding from me, I fear how dire you must believe it to be. I fear for _you_ , that you might be doing something that will cause you harm. And naturally, I do not wish trouble to be brought to my household if it can be avoided. Do you understand?"

"I do, sir." Loki's voice rasped harshly, and he swallowed hard before he spoke again in a calmer tone. "I understand."

"Then will you not tell me what it is that you are trying so hard to cover up? Perhaps it is something we can face together."

"I…" He swallowed again, blinking rapidly. "I have been… taking care of someone. She—it would not be good, if anyone were to find out who she is."

"Why not?" asked Tyr gently.

"She… it was my fault, but she was involved in… something. And the All-Father was angry with her. And I'm… trying to help."

Hmm. "Loki, if she has committed some crime against Asgard…"

"No! No, sir. Nothing like that, I swear it. It's only… you, well, you know how Odin could be, at times. She, uh. She's in disgrace, and no one else would help her, and she… she doesn't deserve that. So I've been… helping."

Tyr's shoulders dropped in relief. His boy with the kind heart. "Loki, you could have told me this months ago. I could have helped you, or this woman. Perhaps there is a place for her here, at Vingólf."

"I-I don't—I do not think that would be a good idea. Sir. She…" Loki's eyes darted to the side, briefly. "She's… proud. I think she would be upset if she thought I'd spoken to anyone about it. I couldn't bring her here. Surely the All-Father would find out, and then it would be even worse for her."

"Proud, eh?" Well, Tyr could understand that. Pride made even the best people become stubborn, sometimes to the point of foolishness. "Well. See if you cannot convince her. Surely living under my protection would be better than whatever her circumstances are now, living in disgrace with her only aid coming in secret."

"I'll try, sir. I can make no promises, but I will try."

"My son, that is all I can ask." Tyr smiled, and reached across the tafl board to grip Loki's shoulder. "I am proud of you, for helping, but next time, come to me when something like this happens, hm? You and I together can always do more than either of us alone."

He had expected Loki to smile, or duck his head the way he often did when Tyr praised him, but instead the boy looked pained, and like he was trying to hide it.

* * *

Paperwork. Tyr had joined the army thinking that a soldier lived by the sword, but then he had become an officer and a lord, and discovered that men in fact lived and died by the paperwork he signed and the reports he read. It was tedious, but necessary, and Tyr had more patience for it than most.

Today's batch included nothing terribly unusual; in the "general" stack were orders to sign off on for the usual troop rotations in and out of various border posts, a food inventory for the barracks, and a requisition form that all but demanded a better source of steel for the armorers, who were claiming that their most recent contract was being filled with substandard material. In the "lord" pile, there was a disbursement form for funds to repair a crack that had been discovered in the spring-house wall, a request to find a new kitchen cat to keep the mice out of the pantry, since the old one had died, and a report from the chief groom that the horses had all begun avoiding a particular area of the lower pasture.

Hm. None of the horses so far had turned up with any injuries, and the grooms had not seen any indication that a predator had moved into the area, but it was still worrisome. Tyr supposed he would have to gather up a handful of Bears and form a party to dispatch or drive off whatever might be hiding there. If there was a predator, it would be good experience for them, a chance to fight a true foe without the chaos of war to put them at undue risk.

Tyr was just writing out the reply to the grooms when there was a knock on his door.

"Enter!" The door swung open to reveal Mimir, looking unusually grave. "Seidmadr," greeted Tyr. "What news?"

"You wished to be informed when something changed with regard to Loki's seidr and whatever he was enchanting," said the older man. "Whatever he is up to is pulling on his magic quite severely, beginning early this morning. I fear for his health, should it continue much longer."

"Have you spoken to him about this?" asked Tyr.

"He did not come to my lessons today. Nor anyone else's, I have found."

Tyr stood. Paperwork could wait. "Can you locate him?"

"I already have," said Mimir. "There is a shelter in a corner of one of your horse pastures—"

"Hold." He shuffled back through his stack, until he found the report from the chief groom. "Would this magic he is using cause a reaction in animals?" he asked. "For example, causing horses to avoid the area where it is being performed?"

"It would have to be extremely powerful, or not under control, in order to cause such a reaction," said Mimir.

They met one another's eyes as realization sank in, and within the next heartbeat they were both sprinting toward the door.

* * *

A dash down the hill to the lower pasture was not at all the same as a jog to the shrine, on a mostly level road. The sun was just dropping behind the hill, casting their path in shadow, and the fastest route down was a steep, winding trail through brambles and brush and around several moss-covered boulders. The horses took this route to get to their favorite grazing and watering spots, but that did not make it any easier for human feet to negotiate. Tyr and Mimir, and the servants behind them, all stumbled and nearly fell at least once.

Finally, they made it to the lower pasture, an idyllic green meadow with a spring-fed creek winding through it. With the last of the sun's rays slanting across the trees and boulders, illuminating the roof of the rain shelter, it would have been the perfect picture of serenity, except for the horses gathered tightly all together, as far from the shelter as they could get.

And except for the scream of another horse, hidden inside the shelter.

"Everyone stay back," said Tyr to the gathered servants. "You and you, get these horses back up to the stables, or a different pasture, I don't care which. Master Torfi, I will call for you to aid the horse inside as soon as Seidmadr Mimir declares it safe to enter."

"But General," said one of the grooms. "I just did a count. All our horses are there—none missing."

Tyr stopped to stare at him. "You are certain?"

It was Torfi, his chief groom, who answered him. "No, he is right. I just counted them myself. Whatever horse is in the shelter, it isn't one of ours." The beast screamed again, and Torfi frowned. "And in labor, if I do not miss my guess."

"Labor…"

They approached cautiously, Tyr with his blade out in case Torfi was wrong. The inside of the shelter was piled thick with straw, more than double what the grooms usually used, and they could hear the horse thrashing about inside.

Tyr could also hear Loki's voice, just this side of frantic. "It's all right, _elskan, saetur_ , you're all right, it will be over soon… it's all right, shh, shh, that's it, rest your head, you're doing so well…" There was a pause, and the ground beneath their feet thrummed with a miniature earthquake, the kind that Loki sometimes produced in his nightmares before they could wake him.

The general's shoulders dropped, and he looked over his shoulder at Mimir with a shake of his head. For his part, Mimir looked a little like he'd swallowed a live fish, before he blinked and got himself back under control. Tyr had to wonder what he was sensing that the general could not.

They stepped inside, and Tyr didn't know whether to laugh or cry at what he saw. There was Loki, with his coat off and his shirt sleeves rolled up, on his knees beside a _very_ pregnant mare, positively enormous, who lay on her side, her heaving breaths rustling the straw by her nose. Loki's arms were wet and slick with birthing fluid, and beside him in the straw was an actual, by the stars, stack of books with the topmost one held open by a pair of pebbles.

"Oh, Loki," he sighed—and the boy leapt as though scalded, spinning in place and nearly falling over in his startlement.

"No," he gasped, then louder, "No!" He flung himself sideways, nearly draping his own body over the mare's while she snorted at him. "Y-you can't kill her! I won't let you!"

"Loki—"

"You _can't_!" There were tears on Loki's face now, and his breath was heaving almost as much as the mare's. "I've done _everything_ for her, she's _mine_ —"

Tyr remembered the first day, all those months ago now, when he'd helped the prince move his possessions from the royal palace to his own. He'd asked Loki if he had any other horses besides his mount, and the boy had suddenly tensed… and lied, Tyr now realized.

Loki was growing more frantic, scrambling to his feet and his hands beginning to glow with uncontained seidr. He was staring at Tyr's hand… ah. Of course. The blade that Tyr had forgotten he'd drawn, to fight a predator that did not exist.

Tyr sheathed the sword with a decisive _click_ as the blade slid home, and stepped forward with his hands open. "Loki… my son. Be at peace."

"Y-y-you can't kill her—"

"Hush," said Tyr. "No one is going to harm your mare tonight. Deep breaths. There is nothing to fear here."

"Ground, Loki," said Mimir from behind him, and the sound of the seidmadr's voice seemed to jolt Loki out of whatever state he'd worked himself into.

"Seidmadr?"

"Whatever magic you're working here, the pathway is still open. You're draining your reserves, and you've not got a good grip on all the seidr you're flinging every which way. Now, ground."

"I can't." Mimir raised an eyebrow, and the boy actually seemed to pale a little. "I hadn't realized it, I'm sorry, it wasn't deliberate! But…" He closed his eyes for a second, seeming to search inside himself for something Tyr could not see. "It's looped through the mare and her labor is pulling on it. It'll stop once the foal is born, I think, but right now if I ground, it'll dissipate and… and she _needs_ me. I can't. _Please_ don't be angry, seidmadr, but I can't."

"Then you need to at least take a better hold of it than you have now," said Mimir. "Or have you not noticed the earthquakes?"

"I'm sorr—" The mare screamed again, and Loki dropped back to his knees beside her head. "Hush, now, _saetur_ , just ignore them, they won't hurt you…" He looked over his shoulder at them, gaze darting back and forth between his two mentors. "Will they?"

"Of course not," said Mimir, and Tyr nodded in agreement. "But I do think it would be good to have some sort of explanation for all this."

 


	3. At long last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explanations are given and a baby is born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... warning for gross juicy bits of horse anatomy? I didn't _aim_ for squick, I promise, but I may have landed there anyway.

_"Of course not," said Mimir, and Tyr nodded in agreement. "But I do think it would be good to have some sort of explanation for all this."_

Loki seemed to deflate at the request. "You won't like it," he said quietly.

"As always," said Tyr, "I would appreciate it if you allowed me to make that judgment."

The boy looked down and away; the mare grunted and huffed, then lay her head back down.

"Do you remember a few years ago, when Fa—Odin announced a prize for the most skilled builder to come and make repairs to the walls around the Memorial Gardens? Because of all the decorative work and the arches and things, it was really difficult and he didn't want just anyone to do it. Do you remember?"

"I do," said Tyr.

"Well, where many of the other people who competed had teams and apprentices and so forth, this one man came in, and it was just him and his horse. And he refused to tell anybody his name, just said that he would give his name and take his prize after he had won." Loki chewed his lip, remembering. "I was pretty sure he would use magic in some way, but Fa—the All-Father had stopped… he did not wish to hear my words by then. But this builder won the competition, and the contract, and the All-Father said that as a prize, he could name his payment for the work on the walls."

"He asked for something truly exorbitant, as I recall," said Tyr. "Rare gems, some of which I think might have been artifacts from the vault. And then on top of all that, demanded marriage to a noble lady of the court so that he would have a title instead of being a mere laborer. Is that about right?"

"Yes, sir," said Loki. He glanced up at them, as Mimir folded his arms and leaned against a post. "Fa—Odin was not pleased, and added a stipulation, a really brief amount of time to conduct the work, and a deadline that seemed impossible. He said that if the work was completed on time, the builder could have his payment, and if not, he would be sent away with nothing."

Loki looked back and forth between the two elders, but neither Tyr nor Mimir said anything, simply waiting for the boy to continue his tale.

"Well, he began the work," said Loki, "and right away it became clear that he was working much more quickly than anyone should be able to. He was using magic, of course—"

"Explains why he never gave his name," muttered Mimir.

"—and I had tried to tell them, but all Odin remembered was that I had brought it up. I think he somehow decided I must have convinced the builder to use seidr, or maybe that I was… helping him somehow?" He sighed, just as the mare behind him whickered and kicked restlessly. "Sometimes his accusations did not make much sense. In any case, he decided that since I was the one who had convinced him to allow the builder to participate in the competition, I should be the one who kept him from completing his contract in the time allotted."

Tyr frowned. "That implies the All-Father had no intention of paying the builder's fee."

"Of course not," snorted Mimir. "The power of Asgard may have begun corrupting him by then, but even so the man was always stingy with his last copper coin. If he could get out of paying for something, he would."

Loki shrugged. "I discovered that his horse was… something like a familiar. A focus for his magic. So I decided that all I needed to do was get the horse away from him, and he would not be able to finish his work." He looked up at his foster father and his mentor with a grimace. "Since the familiar was a stallion, I thought a mare in heat would serve admirably for the purpose… but there were none in the royal stables at the time. So I—I studied and researched, and I _made_ one of the mares go into heat.

"This is Svassi," he said, turning around to pat the mare's neck. "It means 'sweet'."

Svassi, as if she understood Loki's words, raised her head and lipped at his shoulder before nudging him, making the boy smile tentatively. Then she snorted, grunted, and pushed, and there was another gush of birthing fluid into the straw of the shelter.

There was one thing about the story that bothered Tyr. "Loki… that event was years ago."

"I know!" Loki made a helpless gesture, his hands coming up as if he wanted to drag them through his hair. "The enchantment didn't work. Or, rather, it _did_ work, she went into heat and the stallion was," he coughed and turned a little red, "was more interested in covering her than in helping the builder finish the wall… but something went awry. She… Svassi has been in foal ever since."

"The entire time?" asked Mimir, frowning thoughtfully.

"Yes, seidmadr. She's been healthy, I've made sure of it! And the foal she carries is not stillborn either, the healers of animals I've taken her to all insist that it is healthy and strong."

"You've taken her to animal healers?" asked Tyr.

Loki sighed. "Several. Different ones, when I could. Or I would disguise Svassi and me, so that they would not know it was the same mare."

"Why?" Tyr frowned. "You said that Odin would be angry if she were discovered. You implied she was a woman in disgrace. What would offend Odin so?"

"I can answer that, my lord," said Torfi, from the shelter entryway behind them. "The bloodlines of the royal stables are prized, and they choose very carefully which stallions may cover which mares. This foal Svassi has carried all this time is… well, the horse equivalent of a bastard. Breeding her with an unknown stallion would never have been allowed, and the foal wouldn't be allowed to corrupt the bloodlines either."

"Father was furious," said Loki quietly, looking at his lap. "He said that when the foal was born, it would be destroyed. He said he would make me destroy it, as a lesson not to damage such valuable royal property." He winced, and spoke even more quietly. "Then when the time came for the foal to be born and nothing happened, he… he ordered me to destroy the mare, instead. She was no use to him like this, so…" He trailed off, picking at the straw listlessly.

"You defied him?" asked Mimir gently.

The boy tensed, then straightened. "I had to."

"We're not arguing that you did the right thing," said Tyr. "We only wish to have the entirety of the tale."

Loki nodded. "I took her into town to a butcher, and bought a goat that was ready to be slaughtered. And then I told them that I was getting ready to go on my first hunt, and needed to know how to slit an animal's throat because I'd never done it before. I asked permission to, to watch them slaughter the livestock, and then after a while I asked them if I could try it myself. I got sheep's blood all over my hands and shirt, and I think even on my face. It was disgusting.

"But then I rinsed off most of the blood, and thanked them, and took Svassi and the goat I'd bought out to the woods. I killed it, and made sure to get its blood on me too; I burned its body, and I left Svassi there. When I came back to the palace, I made sure the All-Father saw me covered in animal blood, and stinking of smoke, and looking upset. I told him I wanted to eat dinner in my rooms with his permission, which he gave. And then after dinner I went back out and moved Svassi to a pasture that I know no one uses. I've been keeping her out of sight and moving her every so often, ever since."

"For five years?" asked Tyr. His clever, clever, devious lad.

"Nearly six, now," said Loki. His face crumpled for just a second, before he schooled his features once more. "Please," he said, his voice trembling just slightly. "She's a good horse. Please don't make me get rid of her."

"I've no intention of doing so, Loki," said Tyr. A good mare of royal bloodlines, and a pleasant temperament? The general would be a fool to turn down such an offer, even if he never bred her. There was the small matter of how Odin might respond if he were to learn one of his prize stock had escaped the royal stables, but between himself and Mimir, Tyr felt they could handle the All-Father and his temper.

Svassi started grunting again, and huffing, and Master Torfi stepped forward. "Forgive me, my lords, but a birthing goes best if the mare is left as undisturbed as possible," he said.

Tyr and Mimir both made to leave, but Loki's voice stopped them. "But the labor—everything in my books says it should be over by now, and it isn't. I fear that something is wrong. That her prolonged pregnancy will carry over into a prolonged labor."

"Well, let me just check on her," said Torfi, and without further ado, dropped to his knees, rolled up one sleeve, and pushed his arm inside the mare's birth canal. She squealed a little and kicked, but otherwise let him do his work. "Ah, there's the babe… shouldn't be long—oh."

"What is it?" asked Loki.

"I can feel four hooves." Torfi grimaced. "Foal's out of position. The mare might not be able to birth it."

"What?" Loki looked crushed. "But that—the books say she could die if that happens! And I've been giving her seidr…"

"Boy, you've been feeding her your seidr since the moment you enchanted her, five years back," said Mimir. "The pull on your resources has only gotten stronger as she approached this day, and now she's draining you to a degree that I find dangerous."

"But it doesn't feel _wrong_ ," Loki insisted. "Yes, the pull is there, but everything still feels balanced. Here," he said, wiping one hand on his trousers and reaching up toward the seidmadr. "Here, feel."

Mimir frowned as he took the boy's hand, and Tyr could only wonder what sort of exchange they were sharing as the hairs on his forearms stood up.

"Interesting," said the older man. "You're right. Something else must be happening, for the mare and foal are both in perfect health." He thought for a moment and then looked back to Loki, who knelt staring up at him. "Have you tried scrying?"

"No, seidmadr. I thought about it once, but my own seidr blocks my view. All I get is light."

"Hm."

Torvi spoke up, looking torn between deference and exasperation with them all. "My lords, scrying or not, I need to either get this foal pushed into position, or cut the mare open."

"Don't!" Loki looked ready to throw himself bodily across Svassi's belly again, to protect her.

"He's right," said Mimir. "How strange." He was staring at the mare as if he could see through her, and his eyes seemed to catch more of the light inside the shelter than should be possible. "The foal is in the correct position, horse master. But it would seem that all the magic worked upon it has wrought something new." He waved a hand, and the mare's belly began to glow and shimmer. Soon they all could see a ghostly image, blurred but unmistakable, of a tiny horse, oriented high and aimed headfirst toward its mother's birth canal.

Tyr counted four hooves at the front, just as Torfi had said… and four more hooves at the back.

"What is this?" he asked.

Master Torfi hissed through his teeth. "Ordinarily I'd say it was misbegotten. Deformed. Such creatures usually die a few minutes after birth… but both your sorcerers here insist that the foal does not suffer. At least, it does not suffer at the moment."

"What do you recommend, then?" asked Tyr, as the image faded.

Torfi shook his head a little helplessly. "Well, it has to be born, obviously. Until it is, we cannot come to any other conclusions."

"Loki," said Mimir, "when this is done, you will take me step by step through the working you performed. If need be, we will enter a shared trance to make certain no clue is left—"

Svassi screamed then, startling Loki and drowning out Mimir's words.

"Right, that's it," said Master Torfi. "If you're staying, all respect my lords, but keep quiet and back away. Let's give the lady room to do her work."

Tyr and Mimir both stepped back; Loki, unsurprisingly, stayed close by, though he at least moved back to kneel beside Torfi. "Is there anything I should do?" he asked.

"No, my prince," said Torfi. "Just hush. I suppose you with your magic might be able to tell me if anything starts to go wrong, but for now we just let her work. If she starts to have difficulty, then we'll step in and aid her, but not before."

"Yes, horse master." Good lad.

Tyr had not had many opportunities, nor much need, to witness a foaling before. To be honest, now that they knew Loki was in no danger, he wasn't really sure why he should stay. Still, it was obvious that Loki would not be moved, and should anything go wrong with the birth after everything the boy had done to keep the mare safe, he would likely need someone to lean on for comfort.

With a sigh, Tyr settled in for a long wait; however, it was only a few minutes later that the foal's nose began to appear beneath her tail.

Torfi nodded, and nudged Loki with his shoulder. "How long has she been in labor?"

"I'm not… I don't know for certain. All I've had to go on are my books." He ducked his head at the horse master's chuckle.

"Don't fret, young master," said Torfi. "I am trying to imagine what my first foaling would have looked like if I'd had only books to go on, and no apprenticeship where I could see it firsthand. You're doing well enough, considering, and it's obvious you've taken good care of your Svassi these past years. But still, what do your books tell you?"

"She, uh… the waters began to… flow… perhaps an hour ago, now?" Loki's face was red in the light of the lanterns someone had had the wit to light. "I've not really been keeping good track of the time."

"Mm." Torfi nodded. "A bit long for a birth, but with those extra legs… well, I reckon we shall see what we shall see, with this one. Has she been bred before, for the palace?"

"I don't think so, horse master. But I don't really know. I could see about checking the records at the palace stables, to see if there are any other foals of her line."

Torfi nodded, and went silent for a moment. "It's the screams that have me concerned," he said thoughtfully. "Mares are usually quiet while they foal; they don't want to attract predators, you see. But we'll watch, and wait."

The minutes trickled by before Svassi gave another push, and the head of the foal cleared the birth canal. Loki gasped, then grinned… but the mare's scream wiped it from his face in an instant.

Torfi shuffled forward on his knees, and reached in under the foal's chin. "Two hooves," he said with a grunt. "The other two are caught."

"What does that mean?" Loki demanded, his voice pitched high with anxiety.

"Nothing yet," said Torfi, reaching inside the mare with both hands now. "If I can get them unstuck, all will be well. If not, then we might have a problem."

"Loki, come away," said Tyr quietly.

"But—"

"Give Master Torfi room to work," he pressed. "Come stand by me."

The boy got up on shaky legs, almost like a young colt himself, and staggered through the deep straw over to Tyr's side. As soon as he was close, the general looped an arm over Loki's shoulders and pulled him close.

"It's not like he needs room from _me,_ " Loki muttered, "he's doing all his _work_ up inside her—her—"

"It would be best if you didn't finish that sentence," said Tyr mildly, and the boy turned a little red again.

There was a wet noise, and they both looked over to see Master Torfi pulling his hands out from the mare's canal. The foal's nose was a little farther along, and now they could see the first two hooves just peeking out under its chin.

"Master Torfi?"

"The next set of hooves is in the canal," he said, shaking fluid off his hands. "From here it is up to her. Shouldn't take long."

And indeed, it didn't. The mare was no longer screaming, just huffing and grunting, and with every push the foal moved along, an inch at a time.

"What are those things on its hooves?" asked Loki. His nose was wrinkled, but Tyr couldn't tell if he was disgusted or worried.

"The slippers?" Torfi looked over his shoulder with a grin. "Wouldn't be very comfortable for the mother if her baby's sharp little hooves were poking her every time he moved, would it? So instead you'll see what we call elf slippers. Soft. But never you fear, the hooves are underneath, just as they should be. Once the babe is standing, just walking around will rub the slippers off." He paused, studying Loki, then said, "You could come and feel them, if you like, after the foal is out."

Loki nodded hesitantly. "I'd like that."

They watched in silence as the mare birthed her foal; it was covered with the caul of its birthing sack, and wet, and still, but when its shoulders were nearly clear, Torfi reached up and gently pulled, and with a sudden rush the babe was lying there in the straw, its hind legs still inside the mother as she blew a heavy breath.

"She sounds relieved," said Loki quietly. " _I_ would be."

"Heh. Well, she is working hard," Tyr replied, just as softly. "Not much longer now."

The foal's head moved feebly, and Torfi reached down to pull the caul off its face and swipe its nostrils clear, watching as it took its first breaths. It was hard to tell with how wet its coat was, but Tyr thought it would be a dark gray or black. Handsome.

"Loki," said Mimir suddenly, "how do you feel?"

"Seidmadr?"

"Your energy, the pull has shifted. How do you feel?"

"I feel—" Just as he was about to respond, the mare gave a final push and the foal's hind legs slipped free, along with the beginnings of the afterbirth, and Loki swayed on his feet. His eyelids flickered as Tyr caught his elbow, and the ground trembled again. "Oh. That's… oh."

"Loki?" Tyr only barely resisted the urge to shake the boy lightly, instead allowing him to manage the flow of seidr without distraction. Whatever it was doing, Tyr knew better than to risk interrupting.

"I'm… I am well," Loki said, both his voice and expression distant and unfocused. "I hadn't realized… oh."

"Ground, Loki," said Mimir, and the boy blinked, seeming to come back to himself.

"I… when I helped the mare go into heat, my seidr… got stuck. Helping her. And I think maybe prolonging the pregnancy. But I hadn't realized just how much of my energy was tied up in keeping her healthy and strong and, and protected." He looked at Tyr, and the general thought perhaps he looked a little drunk. Certainly his smile was a little loose around the edges. "It's all rushing back now. I hadn't noticed how much was _missing_."

Tyr's eyebrows rose, and he glanced over to see Mimir actually looking a little pale. "Do you need assistance, containing it?" he asked.

Loki shook his head, but then he staggered again as the motion seemed to make him dizzy. "Maybe a little," he amended.

Mimir reached out a hand to the boy, and Tyr nudged him closer, careful that he didn't trip over his own feet. Loki shut his eyes and breathed slowly and steadily for about a minute; when he opened his eyes he seemed much steadier.

"It looks so slippery," he said, looking to the foal.

"Well, you've felt the birthing fluid yourself," Torfi pointed out. "Makes everything easier, for the foal and its mother."

"When will it stand up?" Loki asked. "My books said they stood up really soon after they were born."

"Give him a few more minutes, young master," said Master Torfi. "With all these legs…" He shook his head mournfully. "Were it any other creature, I'd suggest he would never be able to walk at all. But with a deformity like that, you usually see a few healthy legs and a few sickly. None of these are sickly; they all face the right direction…" He shook his head again and shrugged. "I suppose we shall have to wait and see. If he still hasn't gained his feet in two hours, then I shall worry."

"He?" asked Tyr.

"Aye, my lord. Svassi has a son."


	4. Svassi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots and lots of talk about horses, with some discussion of Loki's magic. Also, feels. You may want to brace yourself.

They all watched as Svassi heaved herself to her feet, turned around ponderously, and began to lip at her babe. Before long, she was licking him steadily, washing him clean as he lifted his head on a wobbly neck. Apart from all the legs, he really was a well-formed creature, Tyr thought; his wide forehead suggested he would be fairly intelligent once he grew.

Well. If he grew.

"Can I name him?" asked Loki, and Tyr hid a wince. If the foal died, the boy would be crushed… but then, he'd cared for the mare for all these years, hiding him from Odin's sight and seeing to it that she was healthy. He'd likely be crushed if anything happened to the foal, whether it had a name or not.

"If you like," he said, catching Torfi's eye and seeing him shrug.

"Sleipnir," said Loki. "His name is Sleipnir."

Mimir chuckled. "Slippery?"

The boy ducked his head and shrugged, still looking pleased. "It seemed to fit. He looks like the stallion; the builder never did give his own name, but he said his familiar was Svadilfari. And he was a wily, slippery beast himself. I tried to catch him while he covered Svassi, but he found a way out of the corral I built, even with the gate shut."

"But the builder still wasn't able to complete his task, as I recall it," said Tyr.

"No." Loki hugged himself, eyes downcast. "I think Odin had him executed, either for failure to complete the work or for daring to demand the hand of a woman in marriage without her consent."

Tyr grimaced, while Mimir shook his head. "Truly," said the older man, "I have left my sister-son alone too long. I should have returned sooner, to see to his wellbeing."

"It is too late for regrets now, seidmadr," said Tyr. "You do not strike me as the sort of person to torment himself by dwelling on mistakes."

"No, I am not," said Mimir. But he sighed anyway as he folded his arms. "Nevertheless, it is something I do not intend to repeat." He contemplated Loki for a moment, watching him watch the mare and her foal together, then shook his head bemusedly. He lowered his voice and leaned closer to the general. "We will need to talk, later, I think," he said very softly; "there are certain things about your son that you have a right to know."

No surprise, that; Tyr hadn't missed the look on Mimir's face when Loki's extra seidr had come rushing back. Nor had he missed the earthquake that rumbled the ground beneath their feet. When they'd first met, the seidmadr had said that Loki was extremely powerful; how much more so would the boy be, now?

Tyr said nothing, only nodded and leaned against the wall of the shelter. There was not a chance in all the realms that Loki would be parted from this foal before he got to see it rise to its feet and walk—assuming the poor thing could—and Tyr had no objection to keeping the boy company now that several years' worth of sneaking and hiding and fearing for the mare's life were over. To be sure, she and her babe made for a serene picture, and Tyr found himself a little smitten by the scene himself.

So they waited, and watched; the mare passed the afterbirth into the straw and began to nudge at her foal to rise, her instincts telling her to get away from the scene of the birth before predators could sniff it out.

Sleipnir's legs began to twitch; out of the corner of his eye, Tyr saw Torfi nod, looking impressed already. "Nearly there," he said, not taking his eyes off the foal.

There was another minute or so of twitching and restless shifting; Sleipnir got his front legs out in front of him, and his hind legs gathered under him. And then with a sudden flurry of motion, he was standing, all eight legs splayed out and taking his weight, hind legs still pinkish and slick with birth fluid that his mother hadn't reached yet. He wobbled back and forth, struggling for balance, and his little tail curled up under his rump. His mane was little more than a row of fluff along the ridge of his neck, standing up every which way as he rocked.

Loki was staring at him in absolute rapture. "That's it," he said, more gently than Tyr had ever heard him. "Look at you, so strong. You can do it."

"Aye," said Master Torfi, "it appears he can, indeed." The foal struggled, shifting his feet under him a little better in the thick straw, before he overbalanced and fell over. Loki started in dismay, but Torfi held his hand up to stop him from moving to interfere. "Give him but a moment, my prince," he said. "After all, he's never done this before."

And indeed, it was less than a minute before the little horse got his legs under him and tried again, this time taking a sturdier stance as Svassi came and nosed at him, whickering quietly. Bit by bit, the foal's stance became more steady and sure; he would start to tip and then catch himself.

Before long, he was taking his first tentative steps. Master Torfi watched him like a hawk, leaning forward with narrowed eyes. "I'll be damned," he said.

"What is it?" Loki looked worried, but Torfi was shaking his head with a half-smile on his face.

"He's using all eight legs. I expected at least one or two to drag and be useless, but they are not. They're positioned well, and… sensibly enough, for all that he has extras. There's good conformity. Indeed, were he a four-legged horse, I would say he was exceptionally well put-together. I've no idea what your magic caused, young prince, but it does not seem to be as harmful as I'd feared upon first sight of it."

Sleipnir moved haltingly around the shelter, his knees wobbling now and again as he took in the little space with wide, dark eyes. Svassi watched him with what Tyr could almost call an indulgent air, if horses were prone to such things, or perhaps a proud air, which he knew full well they were. Well, and she certainly had something to be proud of, didn't she?

"What do you wish to do with the foal and his dam, my lord?" asked Torfi, and just like that, the moment was shattered. Loki's face fell, and he turned toward the general with an expression full of worry.

"I shall have to think on it," said Tyr, before the boy could begin to protest. "I will need to speak with Loki, of course, before I make a decision." Unfortunately, the boy only looked even more fearful at his words. "Be at peace, my son," he added. "When I say I shall have to think on it, that is all that I mean."

Loki nodded, but did not answer. Instead he turned back to watch the little foal, getting used to his legs and beginning to bounce, a little, instead of nearly falling over. As he was speaking, Sleipnir finally found his mother's teat and began to nurse greedily.

"Understood, my lord," said Master Torfi, rising to his feet. He gave Svassi a gentle pat and moved away from them both. "Let us give them some privacy for now, then, and I shall check on them both at first light."

* * *

Leaving the shelter, they discovered that full night had fallen; the climb from the back pasture was steep, and Tyr did not look forward to making it in darkness.

"I can create a light," offered Loki, but Mimir stopped him.

"I shall do so," he said hastily, and Tyr remembered how pale he had looked when the energies had shifted with Sleipnir's birth. The conversation Mimir had requested ought to happen sooner rather than later, it seemed. The boy had just become even more powerful than he'd been before, and when Mimir had first _met_ him, he'd thought Loki could be a danger to himself and others without proper training. How much more so must he be now? Tyr shook his head as he climbed.

They were silent for awhile, until they reached the top of the hill and Torfi made his way to his apartments above the stables. Once it was just the three of them, Loki spoke.

"Are you angry with me?"

Tyr sighed. "I find myself exasperated," he admitted.

"I couldn't kill her," said Loki, with an edge of his earlier desperation in his voice.

"No, of course not," said Tyr. "That is not what is on my mind."

Loki looked at him curiously, but held his peace until they were indoors.

"Go wash," said Tyr. "Change your clothes, and then come to my suite."

Loki swallowed. "Yes, sir."

Hoenir joined them soon enough, and raised an eyebrow at Tyr in silent question.

"Loki," was all he said, and his valet began to grin, as Tyr rolled his eyes.

"Will you need anything from me this evening, my lord?" asked Hoenir.

The general shrugged. "I can pour drinks for the three of us easily enough. But if you could have our meal sent up, I would appreciate it."

"Of course."

* * *

The boy's knock on Tyr's door was even more tentative than usual, and Tyr had to hide a sigh. "Come in, my son," he called.

Loki poked his head around the door like a cat expecting to have a shoe thrown at him. Tyr and Mimir were already seated at the table in Tyr's receiving room, uncovering the dishes the servants had just brought up. The smell of food made the boy's nose twitch, and Tyr was pretty sure he heard his stomach growl, too.

"Come, sit," said Mimir gruffly, and Loki finally came fully into the receiving room, pulling out a chair and eying the food hungrily. "How are you feeling?"

"Seidmadr?"

"After all that seidr came back, you were a little giddy," said the older man. "Were you able to ground all right?"

"Yes, seidmadr, of course," said Loki, looking a little confused. "In the barn."

"No difficulties since then?"

"No, seidmadr. If I may… should there be?"

Mimir chewed thoughtfully, staring at the boy, who hid his hands under the edge of the table the way Tyr knew he did when he needed to fidget. "You've a tremendous reserve of seidr," he said finally. "Deep enough and vast enough to make me nervous."

Loki blinked at that. His mouth opened, but he seemed unable to come up with a response, for he closed it again after a second.

"Power such as yours is rarely seen," Mimir said, with a glance at Tyr; it was obvious this was what he'd wanted to talk about. "Rarer still, for the one who wields it to survive to adulthood without having destroyed themselves, by trying to touch more of it than they were capable of controlling."

Loki swallowed hard, then, and even turned a little pale. "I didn't realize."

"No, of course you didn't," said Mimir. "Why would you? Your power has always simply been your power. But I cannot fathom how Odin could have left you untrained for so long. The risk to your safety, and the safety of everyone around you, was immense. And you never knew it, never realized just how close you were to the edge of an inferno. This magic with the mare and her foal…" Mimir shook his head. "You do not even realize just how powerful a working that was, do you? If the slightest thing had gone wrong…" He trailed off, shaking his head again.

"I'm sorry," said Loki in a small voice.

That brought Mimir up short, and his face softened. "You needn't be," he said. "I am not scolding you. I am more than anything astonished at your skill, your power, and your control. For one with so little training, you are… truly impressive. You were able to protect the mare and successfully enchant her, but there was, I think, a spillover of excess power that affected the foal. We will work together on refining your precision, and such errors will not occur in future."

"Yes, seidmadr." Loki seemed relieved now, if still subdued, and he finally began lifting food onto his plate.

Then Tyr spoke, "Loki—" and had to pause when the boy froze again. "There is something I wish for you to understand."

Loki's hands lowered back into his lap. "I shouldn't have hidden the mare from you," his son mumbled, looking down at his plate. "Or I shouldn't have continued to help her, just left her to her fate, or something."

"Not quite," said Tyr. "And I would appreciate it if you did not make assumptions about what I am going to say to you, before I say it."

Loki took a deep breath, quietly, so that Tyr only saw the rise and fall of his chest. "Yes, sir."

"What I wish for you to understand, Loki, is that you are my son… and that because I am your foster father, I am also your _ally_. No, I would have preferred that you not hide Svassi from me, although I can understand why you did so. I would have preferred that you realize that you could ask for help with her, rather than needing to hide her, or to lie. I know that you felt it necessary, and it is always good to be cautious when making alliances and determining whom to trust—but with me, I want you never to feel that you have to question the solidity of that alliance. I would have helped you with her."

"You would have?" Loki looked up, finally, but his expression was still drawn and sad. "Not anymore?"

Tyr's brow furrowed in concern. "Of course I will, still. She's a fine mare and I would be happy to add her to my stables. The foal is unusual, to be sure, but he goes where his mother does, naturally."

"You said you needed to think about it," said the boy.

"Aye, and I have." Tyr stabbed at a slice of roast with his fork. "It was not a difficult decision."

Loki blinked, and swallowed, and finally said, "What of the All-Father?"

Mimir harrumphed at that. "I fail to see how he can be angry at us having a mare he clearly no longer wanted."

"More likely he would be angry that Loki disobeyed him, but we have more than enough ground to stand on to counter that argument as well," nodded Tyr. "In any case, he knows full well what I would do should he attempt to harm you again." It was difficult to keep the growl entirely out of his voice as he said it.

The breath Loki took was a bit shakier this time as he let it out. He had that surprised look he got whenever Tyr said or did something that really convinced the boy that Tyr would protect him. "Thank you, sir," was all he said.

* * *

For better or worse, they never got the chance to see how a confrontation with Odin would play out: Svassi's health began to deteriorate about three weeks after giving birth to her son. Loki had visited her every day after his studies, and once Master Torfi had deemed it safe, he exercised her gently in the paddock, walking her on a halter from one end to the other with Sleipnir tripping along beside them. He fed her treats and spoke to her, and groomed her till her coat shone.

Naturally, he was the first to notice that something was not quite right with her. "She seemed to tire easily today," he said over dinner. "Master Torfi said that she is still recovering from the birth and not to worry, but… well, I do worry."

Two days later, she was still fatigued, according to both Tyr's foster son and his chief groom, and she had had difficulty producing enough milk for Sleipnir. "The foal should nurse, take his fill, and then wander off to play," Torfi explained. "Instead he nurses for but a moment at a time, as if there is not enough milk for him, and returns frequently, looking for more."

"Could that be a failing in the colt and not the mother?" asked Tyr.

"No." Torfi shook his head decisively. "I wouldn't have believed it had I not seen it, but the foal is fine, extra legs and all. He has some interesting gait combinations, and since he's still young he's tripped over his own feet more than once, but…" He shook his head again, this time in apparent wonder. "The little lad has some _speed_ to him when he's able to keep track of all those legs. I actually think he'll make it to adulthood, now… and when he does, I think he'll be something to be reckoned with."

"He'll not make it to adulthood if his dam can't feed him," said Tyr.

"We can work around that if we have to," Torfi replied, waving that off. "I've started the mare on special feed, and we can make artificial milk to give to the foal until her milk comes back up."

But the extra measures didn't seem to have any effect at all on Svassi; day by day she ate a little less, tired from her walks a little sooner, and had less milk to offer her foal, although it was clear from her behavior that she loved him no less.

Loki, predictably, was beside himself.

"This is my fault," he said several times and in several different places.

"No," he was told several times, by several different people. Torfi added, "Sometimes a mare just doesn't do well after a birth. There's no predicting it, and little to be done except care for her and hope she recovers."

"Everyone in Vingólf knows how much you care for that horse," said Tyr. "Only a fool would blame you for her declining health."

"If anything did happen, Loki, it was an accident," said Mimir. "Your magic was very strong, and no doubt there was some spillover effect from what you originally intended, but the energy I felt was all for health and fertility. For her to wither and fade like this, and it to be your fault, there would still have to be seidr covering her—and there is none— _and_ it would have to be directed toward harming her, which it never was."

"I could give her energy again," offered Loki.

"Absolutely not," said Mimir. The boy's expression crumpled, then shifted to a scowl.

"So you _do_ think it was my fault, seidmadr," he said. "I told you it was."

"And I told you it was not," said Mimir, drawing himself up. "Trust me to know a little bit more about seidr than you do, young prince." When Loki looked away, arms folded and eyes glassy, Mimir gentled his tone. "The only thing that I fear may have happened is that Svassi somehow became dependent upon your seidr, while she was in foal," he explained. "That isn't natural. Giving her more of your energy might help her temporarily, but it would not aid her in returning to a natural state, where she derives her life force from her food and care. Do you understand?"

"…I suppose so, seidmadr."

Mimir nodded. "Another concern I have, my boy, is that the connection between you and the mare could strengthen too far, and she could become something of a parasite upon your own seidr. You could put your own health at risk, in trying to help hers. Do you understand _that_?"

This time Loki nodded. "Yes, seidmadr." He hunched his shoulders up and shivered a little. "I just wish there were more I could do for her."

"You are doing everything you possibly could, within the bounds of nature," assured Mimir, and Loki nodded, but still looked troubled.

* * *

Within another week, Svassi's condition had deteriorated still further, and Master Torfi began to walk around with a grim expression on his face. Tyr went looking for Loki one evening when he did not come up for dinner, and found him outside Svassi's paddock, leaning on the fence with his chin resting glumly on his arms.

"This is my fault," he said, again.

Tyr took a deep breath, and sighed slowly as he put his arm around the boy's shoulders.

Svassi herself was standing, not quite midway across the paddock, with her head hung low, not eating, while her foal gamboled about her in stark contrast to her obvious fatigue. Her coat no longer shone, no matter how long Loki groomed her, and her ribs were beginning to show.

"No, it isn't," said Tyr.

"Just because it was an accident does not mean I am not the one who caused this," said Loki. Tyr could feel the tension shift across his back. "I snagged her up in my seidr and didn't let go properly, and she became too dependent upon it, and now she cannot live without it even though she must. And I created a, a freak of a foal into the bargain."

Now Tyr turned to eye his son. "I thought you loved that 'freak', and I have never heard you call him such a thing before now."

At that, Loki slumped back down, burying his face in his arms for a few seconds; he scrubbed his face from side to side on his forearm before lifting his head once more. He whistled softly, and Sleipnir's ears perked up and he wheeled, prancing halfway toward Loki before he pretended to shy at some invisible threat and bounced sideways. At Tyr's side, the boy laughed a little, then whistled again.

"That's it, you silly creature; come closer…"

Sleipnir tossed his head with its fuzz of mane, and more-or-less trotted up to the fence where they stood. With eight legs and more options in how to place them, the little foal's gait sometimes resembled a trot, sometimes a pace, and sometimes something more like a palfrey's stepped gait. It was a little mesmerizing to watch.

"What's that you say? Do I have a lump of _sugar_ for you? Is _that_ why you came over? Or did you wish for me to scratch your ears, hm?" Loki held out his hands for the foal to sniff, then lip at impatiently. "Ah, it is only the sugar you want. Greedy thing. I don't know why I indulge you so, you'll grow up spoiled," he said, pulling a piece of candy from his pocket and setting it in the palm of his hand for Sleipnir to take. He was still small enough that he licked at the sugar, rather than trying to eat it. "You _will_ , you'll grow up _so spoiled_. Yes, you will."

"You're good with him," said Tyr, and the foal decided to startle at his voice, tossing his head and galloping away… before spinning on his four hind hooves and galloping right back, even faster than before. "And you're right, he is a silly creature, isn't he?"

"He is cheerful, most of the time," said Loki, scratching gently behind Sleipnir's ears. He didn't look up as he went on, "It is good, I suppose. He doesn't understand that he's probably going to lose his m-mother." The boy sighed shakily, and Tyr could see the glimmer of tears in his eyes, though they did not fall. "And he won't understand enough to blame me…"

"Loki."

"…even though I blame myself."

And there was nothing for Tyr to say to that, or any response he knew how to give, except to bring his hand up again and squeeze his son's shoulder, and to stand with him in silence while he tended to the foal and comforted himself, as best he could.


	5. Memento Mori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you all saw this coming. In advance, my apologies for the feels. This chapter was difficult and I didn't want to write it, hence the delay.

The days passed; the mare grew sicker. Loki could barely focus on his studies, and eventually his tutors came to Tyr to ask what was wrong. Tyr explained only that a horse the boy cared about was doing poorly, and left it at that; he felt no need to mention that Loki had begun staying awake late at night, caring for the foal and the mare both.

What was surprising was that Loki's friend, young Fandral son of Folkmarr, had come to visit, too.

"A horse?" he said, wrinkling his nose. "Well… I guess that makes sense. I mean, my family doesn't keep horses so I wouldn't know, but… we have a hound. I wouldn't want anything to happen to him."

"Just so, young master," said Tyr, watching as the boy stood a little taller at the appellation. "I assume you came to visit my son rather than a formal visit with me, yes? He is most likely in the stable, and I was headed that way myself. Come."

Sure enough, they found Loki in Svassi's stall, one of the larger ones they reserved for mares with foals. Svassi was standing nearby, still as quiet and fatigued as ever, but watching as Loki fed little Sleipnir his artificial milk from an oversized bottle.

Fandral laughed when he saw it. "Which one of you is really the baby's mother?" he asked, as Loki looked up at him in pleased surprise. "What is his name?"

"This is Sleipnir," said Loki, as the colt butted his head into the bottle to try and make the milk flow faster. "Oof. Stop that, greedy little thing."

Fandral laughed again. "Loki, mother of Sleipnir," he said. Loki's hands were full, so he kicked a bit of straw toward the boy, then used magic to lift it up and dump it on his head. "Hey!"

"No. Straw." Loki was giving him an impish smile, that Tyr could just see from his vantage point in the walkway.

"Oh, that was _awful_."

"You're the one with all the terrible lines," Loki countered.

"They're not terrible, they're charming," Fandral insisted.

Loki only rolled his eyes, as Sleipnir finished his bottle and butted against him for more. "I can't believe you think those things will _work_ on girls," he said, then grinned wickedly as Fandral blushed.

"I'm not the one who charmed a horse," said Fandral. "And now look at you, a son out of wedlock."

"You're _hilarious_."

"Have you no care for your virtue?" Fandral pressed. "What will your poor mother think?"

"Oh, shut up," said Loki, but he was snickering too.

Fandral settled a little, long enough to ask, "Is this what's been keeping you from your studies? General Tyr said something about caring for a sick horse, but I thought you nobles had grooms for that sort of thing."

"We do," said Tyr, saddling his mount. They both turned, the baker's son looking a little embarrassed, a little fearful. "Svassi is special. She belongs to Loki and he prefers to have the care of her. As I understand it, he's not behind in his studies, and it's good for a lad to understand what it means to be responsible for others, so I have allowed it."

"Svassi is the lady horse standing behind you?" Fandral asked Loki.

"Aye. Her name means 'sweet'," said the boy. "And she really is… or she was, before she got sick."

"Poor thing. What happened to her?"

Loki was quiet for a moment. "It was my fault," he said quietly, and Fandral's face fell.

"It was no such thing," said Tyr firmly. "Loki was trying to help her with his magic, and there was a mistake. An accident. Seidr is a tremendously difficult discipline to learn, and my son is young yet. Mistakes happen, sometimes. However, this is one that I am certain will not happen again."

"Seidr… is that why the baby has so many legs?" asked Fandral. His face brightened again. "I mean, I'm no expert on horses, but I'm _pretty_ sure they're only meant to have four."

"Sleipnir is already the fastest horse in the stables," said Loki haughtily, "and I will thank you not to talk about my son like that. You'll make him self-conscious."

Fandral snorted, then laughed outright when Sleipnir made an identical noise. "He is cute. Weird, but cute. Can I pet him?"

Loki hesitated. "I'm… his mother lets _me_ near him, and she _is_ sweet-tempered, but I don't know how she'd feel about a stranger. I wouldn't want to upset her."

"Oh, come," said Fandral. "I'll stay outside the stall. He looks so soft."

"I'm not worried about her hurting you," Loki said soberly. "She's too ill to do that. But I don't want her to be upset when she can do nothing to stop you, and when being upset could tax her even more."

"Oh." Fandral kicked one toe into the dirt floor of the stable. "Yes, I see. That makes sense." He watched Loki and the foal together for another moment, then asked, "Is he really the fastest horse in the stables?"

"Well, he's all leg," said Loki, and Fandral groaned. "I mean it; he has more legs to move his little body, and it gives him more power. The chief groom, Master Torfi, says he's never seen a horse as fast as Sleipnir at this age, and says when he's grown he may be the fastest horse in all the realm."

"That will be something," said Fandral. "But don't fall off if you're the one riding him."

"I wouldn't." Loki finished brushing his fingers through the little colt's mane and scratching behind his ears, and then wormed his way out of the stall, careful to latch the door behind him. Sleipnir tried to follow him at first, but when he was thwarted he moved easily back to his dam's side, where she nosed at him, weary but affectionate.

Loki sighed, seeing the gesture, and the two boys turned to leave. Fandral made sure to bow respectfully to Tyr when the two of them left the stable, then threw his arm across Loki's shoulders and they staggered off side by side.

It was good that the boy had a friend, thought Tyr; he suspected that his son would need one in the days to come.

* * *

Loki managed to attend his studies, but his tutors reported frequent absences as Svassi worsened. He slept little, and carried dark circles under his eyes. He ate well enough, but that was largely because Astrin or Torfi or Hoenir would drag him out of the stables and into the hall, or to Tyr's chambers, and sit him down at the table bodily. Once someone put food in front of him, the boy would seem to remember that he was ravenous, but he did not speak to anyone, nor stay to socialize afterward.

Master Torfi reported that Tyr's foster son was arriving at the stables before dawn to feed Sleipnir and spend time with Svassi, before making his way to his classes. Master Torfi also reported sometimes seeing Loki in Svassi's stall or in the paddock with her, at a time when he should have been _in_ his classes.

Tyr could not begrudge him the time he spent; it had become clear to all that the mare was not going to recover. Loki would return to his classes soon enough, because he would no longer have the mare to fret over.

* * *

There was one night where Mimir came to Tyr's study in a temper. "I warned him not to give anymore of his seidr to that horse or it could pose a danger to them both," he said.

"I take it he did not heed your warning?"

"He's too fatigued to direct the energies properly," fumed the older man. "He tried to give some to her but her body rejected it—as it _should_ —and the rebound nearly knocked him unconscious. He was still cross-eyed when I sent him to bed, and I expect the headache he'll have for the next three days will teach him to listen the next time I warn him not to do something."

Tyr winced in sympathy; not that he could use magic, but he'd taken blows to the head before that had left the world spinning off-kilter for a week afterward. "You know he only wants to help the mare," he said aloud.

Mimir sighed. "Aye, I'm aware, which is why I didn't punish him further. I must admit that I have misgivings about the boy's propensity to hurt himself in order to help those he cares about."

"He's unaccustomed to seeking assistance," the general reminded him, and Mimir sighed again. "Or having it granted, if he ever did ask for it."

"Why does everything have to come back to Odin?" the seidmadr asked, but did not seem to want an answer.

So Loki recovered at home from his bout of foolishness, but still found a way to pass the time away from his studies with Svassi and her little foal.

"Why did you disobey the seidmadr?" Tyr asked him the next night, speaking quietly, over dinner. The boy was pale as a ghost, and loud noises and bright lights made him nauseous.

"I didn't intend to," said Loki. Tyr raised an eyebrow in reply—even he knew that seidr didn't generally move itself—and Loki closed his eyes in a combination of resignation and illness. "He said that Svassi couldn't live off my seidr alone," he explained, his voice thready, "and I agree with that. But I thought perhaps instead of taking it away from her completely, I could give her a little less, for a while, and then a little less and a little less, until she was… _weaned_ off it. That perhaps she would not suffer so, and I might be able to save her."

Tyr nodded; it was a good thought. "And did Mimir say why it did not work, or why it would not?"

Loki sighed, cracking his eyes open long enough to poke his spoon through his broth. "Once Sleipnir was born, my enchantment ended, and we broke the connection between us; it affected us both," he said. "I got all my seidr back and felt giddy; she got… emptied of it? And now she has… something like an immunity. She will reject any amount of seidr someone tries to give her, no matter how small." One corner of his mouth quirked in a motion too weary and sad and ill to call a smile. "On the other hand, if she survives this, no one will ever be able to enchant her for any harmful purposes either."

Loki set his spoon down, still looking a little green; Tyr had to help him walk, that first night, back to his own chambers to rest. The boy leaned into him, his eyes closed, the entire way. Tyr would have left Loki alone, but after the boy was in bed, he still looked so miserable that Tyr ended up staying, running his fingers along his son's scalp in a way that made him sigh in contentment, until he drifted off to sleep.

It took three days for Loki to recover, and another week or two after that, watching Svassi grow weaker. It wouldn't be much longer, and all in Vingólf knew it.

* * *

The knock on Tyr's door woke him from a sound sleep, when all was dark and silent. The corridor outside his quarters was lit with only a single torch, and the lantern that Master Torfi carried.

"It's time," he said. "I thought you would want to know."

Tyr nodded. "Loki?"

"I wanted to inform you before I woke him, my lord. It seems cruel to make him watch, but crueler to deny him, and have him find out in the morning."

"Aye." Tyr rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "You've my permission to wake him. I'll be along presently."

None of them spoke as they made the trek from the private wing down the stair, across the courtyard, and into the stables. Loki broke away and moved ahead of them to Svassi's stall, which was brightly lit in contrast to the dark of the surrounding night. Tyr heard him utter a soft, heartbroken cry as he reached the stall door, pausing in his tracks before pulling the door open and moving inside.

Sleipnir was awake and restless, shoving his head into Loki's hands and stamping his many hooves as he searched the boy for his accustomed bottle of milk. Svassi, on the other hand, lay on her side, her breath slow and deep, and did not lift her head to greet them.

Gently, Loki pushed the foal away, and stepped closer to the mare. "Oh, _saetur,_ " he breathed, dropping to his knees beside her head. "I am so sorry."

Svassi's eyes were open, and she shifted just a little to see the boy better, huffing quietly when he put a hand on her neck.

"I'm here, _elskan_ ," he said. "It's all right. I'm here." He petted her neck with long, smooth strokes, and she whickered, a sound Tyr usually associated with horses who were content.

"Does she suffer?" he asked Torfi quietly, but the chief groom shook his head.

"No. No, she is only weak, and tired." He sighed, and looked for a moment just as upset as the boy before his expression changed to resignation. "She'll be able to rest soon."

There was nothing else for the two men to do but stand vigil over the mare and her boy. Loki knelt at her head for as long as he could, heedless of the tears dripping down his face, but as Svassi's breathing slowed and grew weaker still, he shifted and lay down in the straw, his forehead touching hers and his knees curled up to brush against her chest. He pillowed his head on one arm and used that hand to awkwardly rub at her ears; with the other, he stroked her cheek and her neck, over and over.

Tyr could see Loki's mouth moving, whispering things to the mare that Tyr himself could neither hear nor guess at. Apologies, perhaps, or reassurances and sweet nothings; perhaps promises to care for Sleipnir after she was gone. Tyr had no way to know, short of asking… which he would never do. Whatever passed between the two of them now was private, and sacred, and Tyr would be content never to know what it was.

Sleipnir nudged at Loki's rump; he shook his fluffy mane, and paced in little circles in the stall before coming back to butt against Loki again. The boy reached up and rubbed his knuckles softly along Sleipnir's side, but the foal was not interested in being petted.

Torfi clicked his tongue to call the foal over to him, and gave him the bottle of milk he was looking for; Loki never turned around or ceased his murmuring to Svassi, only brought his arm back down to the mare's cheek and resumed his slow, soothing strokes.

Perhaps an hour passed.

The mare's breathing grew slower, deeper.

Loki remained curled around her head, his smooth caress of Svassi's neck and face never faltering.

The mare closed her eyes; Loki kept up his soft murmuring, as if lulling her to sleep.

A few more minutes passed. Her breathing slowed still further…

…and then, at last, it stopped.

Loki did not stop petting her for several long minutes; Torfi looked at Tyr worriedly.

The general took a breath, his heart heavy. "Loki?"

The boy gave no indication that he'd heard.

Tyr closed his eyes, gathering strength. "Loki… it's over."

At first, Tyr thought that Loki had not heard, or was deliberately ignoring them, but then his hand on her neck faltered, and stopped. The boy remained lying there on his side in the straw, but he curled up still more tightly till his knees were under Svassi's chin, as his face slowly twisted in a rictus of pure, agonizing grief. His arms came up to wrap around his own head, and he began, in pure silence, to sob, his entire body shaking with the force of it.

Tyr's own eyes were burning as he stepped into the stall, dropped to his knees behind the boy, and rested his hands, one on Loki's head and one on his shoulder.

* * *

Eventually, Svassi's body did as all bodies do, as the mechanisms of death took over; its muscles relaxed, the tongue dropped into the straw, and the carcass began to leak urine and gas from its nether regions. With a little effort, Tyr pulled his son upright, and wrapped his arms around him when he started to struggle. After a moment, Loki seemed to realize they weren't trying to separate him from Svassi quite yet, and he relaxed into his foster father's hold.

"What's to become of her?" he asked eventually, sniffling wetly as he took a hitching, shuddering breath.

"I've a spot picked out in the lower pasture, my prince, with your permission," said Master Torfi from behind them. He kept his voice low and respectful as he explained, "She's not for the slaughterhouse or anything like that; she was a prized mare of the Vingólf stables, and she'll be put in the ground, so the scavengers won't mar her and she'll always be a part of our lands. Her spirit will roam our pastures and the green lands of Volkvangr, I am sure, and she'll keep watch over our other horses, and her little Sleipnir. And you." He paused, waiting for a response, but Loki only took that in and said nothing. "Have I your permission, my prince?"

The boy nodded, his head still burrowed into Tyr's chest. "That's… that sounds… proper, I guess."

"I'll make the arrangements, then. Start digging first thing in the morning."

"I want to do it," said Loki, his head coming up. He looked a wreck, eyes swollen and red-rimmed, hair mussed in every direction and straw sticking out of it. "The… the grave. I want to be the one to dig it."

"We're usually a crew of at least four, my pr—"

"I'll do it. Myself."

"Loki." Tyr squeezed the boy a little tighter. "Don't torment yourself like this. It wasn't your fault. Don't punish yourself with hard labor."

"I'm _not_." Loki scrubbed an arm across his face. "I'll use seidr. See to it she's buried properly. I can't—I can't do anything else for her, now. Let me do this."

Tyr and Torfi exchanged a look, and the chief groom shrugged, a little helplessly.

"We'll consult with Mimir," Tyr decided, "and if he gives permission, then aye, you may bury Svassi yourself."

* * *

It took till midmorning for the arrangements to be made; moving a horse carcass out of its stall and down the hillside to the pasture was no easy task. Torfi, for once, refused to let the boy stay and watch, much though he clearly wanted to. There were things like winches, and stout grooms grunting and lifting and shoving, and the chief groom was certain that Loki would not have been able to bear seeing his beloved mare hauled about like a load of bricks or timber while they went about their business.

They sent him to his chambers, but Tyr doubted he slept.

Finally it was time; the sun was high in the sky and the birds singing cheerfully when they reached the lower pasture. Svassi's carcass, covered with a tarp, was laid out on the ground. Loki and Mimir, Tyr, and Master Torfi and a handful of his grooms were all gathered, the grooms mainly leaning, red-faced and sweating, against the wagon they'd used to bring Svassi down.

"This is the spot you picked?" asked Loki. They were the only words he'd said all morning.

"Aye, young master," said Torfi. It was not far from the storm shelter where they'd first met the mare, in the middle of her labor to bring Sleipnir into the world. The grass was cropped short from the teeth of many horses, and little white flowers dotted the green. When the breeze was quiet, they could hear the rushing of the little stream that flowed through, somewhere off behind them.

Loki nodded, his face solemn, and then he knelt beside Svassi. For a moment, Tyr feared he would do something foolish like speak to the carcass or try to kiss it, but instead he placed his hands on the ground and closed his eyes.

The earth began to rumble, and shake, the vibrations traveling up through Tyr's boots and rattling in the hollow of his chest. The general looked sharply at Mimir, but the old seidmadr stood impassively and watched as Loki did… whatever it was he was doing.

The earth around Svassi began to quiver and jump, a little dust kicking into the air, and then the mare began to sink into it, as if it were no more than swamp mud. As Tyr watched, the ground directly beneath the body roiled and seethed outward, out from under her, and the carcass dropped lower and lower, the dirt rolling and tumbling upward along her flanks to cover her, first in a fine layer and then thicker and thicker as she sank lower into the ground.

The rumbling continued, even as the horse disappeared and a mound built up where she displaced the earth, for several minutes. Loki's eyes were shut tight, but his breathing was deep and even and he appeared to be in no great hardship.

Finally, the earth stilled. Where Svassi had been, there was now a smooth mound of freshly-turned earth, in a perfect rectangle. Master Torfi's eyebrows were raised in surprise, and the grooms behind him looked amazed… or afraid.

Loki sat back on his heels, rested his hands on his knees, and opened his eyes.

"That was well done, apprentice," said Seidmadr Mimir.

Loki twisted and looked up at him, but said nothing. His face was an utter blank, the desolation of his grief leaving him with no expression whatsoever. He said nothing, only turned back to stare at the grave he had just made. After a pause, he stood, still without speaking, his hands at his sides.

The silence fell heavy among the men in the pasture, and as the birds began to sing once more, Tyr nodded to Torfi and his crew. "Thank you, gentlemen," he said quietly. "You are dismissed."

They left, taking the wagon with them; Mimir, Tyr, and Loki remained for a long time.


	6. Moving Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor visits; Loki moves forward from Svassi's death; epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kind words and support while I wrote this! I promise you, _Foal_ is not the last story in this series, though it may be a bit before I begin on the next one, tentatively titled _Precautions_. I've left other stories hanging a bit too long, and they deserve to have some attention from me as well.
> 
> Thanks again! Your reviews, bookmarks, fanart, and recs mean the world to me.

Thor had come to visit. Loki supposed he probably shouldn't begrudge his company, since after all they were brothers and it had been several months since they'd last seen each other; even so, it had only been two weeks since they'd buried Svassi, and he found himself wishing he could be left alone for just a little while longer.

There was nothing for it, though; Tyr was away on business, and there was no way Loki would be able to tell his older brother to leave him be and have it stick.

"You look even worse than I thought you would," said Thor, throwing himself onto Loki's bed. He bumped Loki's shoulder companionably. "Will you not tell me what happened to leave you in such a state?"

Loki looked up from where he was lacing his boots and frowned at the other boy. "Where did you hear that I was in a poor state?" he dodged.

It worked, and Thor had the grace to look abashed. "I was eavesdropping on Mother and Father's conversation last night. And there has been gossip around the palace and in town. There was something about a magical accident, and a horse?"

Gossip. Wonderful. "What else did you hear?"

"Well. You know the courtiers," said Thor uncomfortably. "Most of them…"

"Most of them enjoy looking for ways to humiliate me or talk about me behind my back," sighed Loki. It would seem that living with Tyr would not make that go away as he'd hoped; instead it would make it more difficult for Loki to be present and counter such rumors… or punish the people who decided to spread them. "I might have guessed. But come, what did they say?"

Thor grimaced. "Truly, I came to see you, not to spread upsetting tales," he tried, but Loki just leveled a _look_ at him until he relented. "Well… you remember when you used to practice shape shifting… the story is that you transformed into a horse and then—and then you were—" He stopped, turning bright red and coughing. "Supposedly you were, ah, a _mare_ instead of a stallion, and…"

Loki snorted. He couldn't help it. "Are they saying I'm the mother of a magical horse now?"

"How did you know?"

Loki burst out laughing. It felt good, and he realized he hadn't really laughed in several days. "It started as a joke, you oaf. There is a foal in the stables whose…" He sobered, swallowing hard. "…its mother sickened and died, and I've had the care of it since."

"A foal! May I see?"

Loki bit his lip. "I suppose so, brother… but when you do, you'll see where some of the stories began."

At the stables, Sleipnir was as happy as ever to see him, and Loki couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. The silly little creature warmed him inside every time he saw him, and it was clear that the foal felt the same way. Well, of course he would, as far as he was concerned Loki might as well be his mother, for all the times he'd fed him, and stayed late to cuddle him now that Svassi was gone. He was still young yet and needed the contact.

"There you are, little one, are you hungry? Of course you are, you're always hungry, you're a growing boy, aren't you?" Loki patted his neck and shoulder, still soft and fluffy with his foal's coat, a sleeker coat not growing in just yet. "Do you want to meet someone, Sleipnir? I bet he'll have a treat for you. This is my brother, Thor. Thor, this is Sleipnir."

Thor was staring at the colt, and Loki couldn't quite read the look on his face. Whatever it was, he didn't like it.

"He's… sort of freakish, isn't he?" his brother asked, and Loki fought the urge to smack him. "The stories say your magic made him."

"And you should know better than to listen to stories at court," snapped Loki, but the guilt gnawed at him, and he added, "It was an accident, with his mother. She birthed him like this."

Thor grimaced. "Your magic worries me, sometimes, brother."

"Yes, well, your lack of a brain worries me, but I see you get by just fine on most days."

"You needn't bite at _me,_ just because I speak my mind. You have a lot of magic, and at the Thing, Seidmadr Mimir said that it was dangerous to leave you untrained. That worries me."

"Mimir himself is training me now, so your worries are unfounded," said Loki. It was on the tip of his tongue to explain that all this had begun years ago, before he'd ever learned that Mimir still lived; doing that, however, would reveal the whole story of Svassi, and the builder, and Loki's disobedience, and he couldn't bring himself to speak.

"Sleipnir's no freak," he said instead. "He doesn't suffer with all these extra legs, they're not deformed. Indeed, he's the fastest colt our chief groom as ever seen."

"I shall be sure to tell everyone the stories are false," promised Thor, but he seemed distracted somehow.

"Does something trouble you?" he asked, and watched as Thor's face fell.

"You perceive what I had hoped to hide, rather than trouble you with my woes," said Thor.

"But that is nonsense," replied Loki. "Come. We are brothers. You must tell me what it is that sours your mood. The Mighty Thor is never gloomy, nay," he declaimed dramatically, as Thor shoved at his shoulder, "his disposition is as Asgard's sun!"

"Oh, shut up."

"Only if you tell me what is wrong." Loki climbed up to sit on the fence of Sleipnir's paddock, and after a moment his brother joined him.

"It is nothing, really," he said. "Not compared to all that Father did to mistreat you."

Loki sat up straighter at that. "Has he harmed you, too?"

"No! _No_ , no, I speak poorly. My words are scattered. I only mean that what troubles me is of no great significance. It is only…" Thor trailed off, picking at an imaginary bit of lint on his trousers.

"Spit it out."

"Now that Mother is released from her prohibition, and may be a shieldmaiden again, she and Father argue often. I always used to believe that they lived in harmony, but now I see that Mother was forced to swallow her discontent, as you were."

Loki grimaced. "Did you speak with her about this?"

"I could not. They both strive to reserve their battles for when they think I am not around. I overhear them sometimes; that is all. I must confess, I came to visit you today in part so that I might escape the palace for a while." Thor looked away, dragging a hand through his hair. "They were arguing about you, and then General Tyr came, and I could not stay."

Loki felt cold, the chill prickling its way down his spine. "General Tyr was there?" He'd believed his foster father was at the barracks, as was his duty. Then the first part of what Thor had said finally registered. "The _three_ of them were arguing? About _me_?"

Thor shrugged, clearly unhappy. "Father was angry about something you were supposed to have done but didn't," he said. "I know not the details. Mother accused him of being spiteful. She said, 'I know not why you care that he has what you did not want,' and he said something about your disobedience and willfulness. He claimed you had deliberately deceived him about something, but they never said what. Only Mother said that it was a good thing that you had."

Loki could feel his eyes growing round, but could do nothing to school his expression. Odin _knew._ "What did General Tyr say?"

"He agreed with Mother, about your supposed deception. He warned Father not to try and take from you, because all would know that he would only be doing it because you cared about… whatever it was he wanted to take. And then he said that Father had given up all right to punish you for anything, and that _he_ was your father now, and he would do as a father should and protect his son, even if it meant defying the All-Father himself."

Loki's stomach did a strange little flip, at Thor's words. He had to swallow twice before he could speak. "He really said that?"

"He did."

Loki turned the topic to other things as quickly as he could.

* * *

Loki saw Thor off before sunset and returned to his rooms to study, but found himself unable to focus. His thoughts kept returning to this argument that his parents—all his parents—had had. About him.

Odin knew about Sleipnir. He knew about _Svassi._ And General Tyr had defended him… as he'd promised he would, Loki realized, leaning back in his seat.

General Tyr had taken him out of the palace, and Loki had been afraid and miserable at first, but now that he thought about it, he hadn't jumped at loud noises in over a month. Had stopped flinching whenever Tyr or anyone else reached for him. He… he _enjoyed_ Tyr's company, looked forward to the nights when they could sit down and chat over tafl together. He even secretly craved the touches, the times when Tyr would squeeze his shoulder or throw an arm around him, or pat him on the back. Actually, knowing Tyr, that probably wasn't so secret.

Tyr hadn't been angry, had actually waited for Loki to _explain_ about Svassi before he reached a decision on what to do with her. Had agreed to keep her. Had tolerated Loki skipping lessons to care for her. Instead of punishing Loki, he'd made it clear that Loki would be the one most responsible for her and her foal—a decision that Loki had wholeheartedly embraced, because it was exactly what he'd wanted.

The chief general of all Asgard's armies, the second most powerful man in Asgard, had come with Loki to the stables when Svassi was dying, and had held Loki while he cried like a baby. No mockery. No insistence that he stop behaving like a woman. No humiliating him in front of other people.

Loki… Loki _trusted_ Tyr. More than he could remember ever trusting Odin.

He drew one hand across his mouth, struggling to cope with the overwhelming realization. Tyr had even told him it was all right to be cautious in deciding _whom_ to trust. He _wanted_ Loki to have faith in him, to be sure, but he never demanded it, never pressured his new foster son.

Instead, the general did everything Loki could think of to prove himself worthy of that faith.

Loki realized he had forgotten to blink when his eyes started to burn. He shook himself, staring at his books for a second before getting up and pacing the room. This was _monumental_. This was—he wanted to do something to show Tyr how grateful he was for everything he'd been given. Tyr deserved something, some gesture or token.

Loki needed to think.

* * *

It was well after sunset when Tyr finally made it home; a long argument in the palace after a long day at the barracks had not been his idea of a good time, but it had been necessary. Rumors about the boy had reached the capital and Odin had summoned him in a temper about how well he was keeping Loki under control.

Tyr still had to fight a growl just thinking about it. Stories about the strange foal in their stable had made it down into Vingólf-town, likely shared by tired grooms exchanging stories with other laborers over an ale in the mead-halls. All well and good. But those grooms were apparently frightened of Loki's power, and had made sure to play up how unnatural Sleipnir was, and the boy who had helped to make him. Tyr also recognized elements of the teasing and joking that Loki and his friend Fandral had also engaged in, calling Loki the foal's mother. The story had reached the ears of the nobles, and then someone had remembered that Loki apparently had some skill as a shape shifter, and the rumors had taken a decidedly lewd turn.

Cue Odin, demanding to know what Tyr was doing and why he wasn't keeping a better eye on his son. Possessive old bastard. And then, cue Frigga, just as possessive if in a more benevolent way, unleashing centuries' worth of anger on her husband anytime she had a valid excuse.

Tyr sighed, handing his cloak off to Hoenir as he climbed the stairs. All he wanted was a late meal and perhaps a game of tafl to unwind before he slept.

Actually, the game of tafl sounded better the more he thought about it. Loki had not had the heart to play for the past two weeks, still grieving Svassi's passing. They both could use a chance to reconnect.

Before he reached his chambers, Tyr glanced at the door to Loki's. There was still light spilling into the corridor; with luck, the boy would be more amenable to a distraction tonight.

* * *

Loki sat back from his studies with a sigh, stretching up to ease some of the strain in his back; he'd been hunched over books and scrolls for the past several hours, now, catching up on the lessons he'd missed. Looking at the sky out his window, Loki could see it was quite late; perhaps he would find a snack in the kitchens and then go to bed.

He was just pulling on his slippers when a knock sounded at his door.

"Enter," he called, and was pleasantly surprised to see the general step through the doorway.

"Am I keeping you from something?" he asked, glancing down at Loki's shoes.

"I thought to find a bite to eat before bed," Loki replied.

"Mm." Tyr nodded. "I am having a late meal myself; perhaps you could join me over tafl, if you've a mind."

Loki took a breath, flicking his fingers nervously. "I would like that, sir."

The general nodded, and gave him a tired smile. "My chambers, in about twenty minutes? Give me time to get out of my uniform."

"Of course, sir," said Loki, and Tyr nodded again.

"Very well. I will see you then," he said, beginning to turn away. "Take what you like from the kitchens, or ask Hoenir to add to what he's bringing for me."

Loki took another breath. "Yes, Father."

The general looked back sharply, eyes just a touch wider than usual, and the corner of Loki's mouth twitched up in a tentative smile. After a moment, Tyr smiled in return, one of the rare ones that Loki secretly prized. "Well, then," he said. He shook himself, blinking rapidly, and cleared his throat. "…Well, then. Twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes. Yes, sir."

The general pulled the door shut behind him, and Loki allowed himself to sigh in relief, before smiling helplessly, and reaching for his house robe.

He'd chosen the right gift.

* * *

* * *

_** Epilogue: ** _

"Father!" Loki's shout in the courtyard drew Tyr to the window of his study. As soon as the boy saw him looking down, he called, "Come and see, he's doing it again!"

Tyr hadn't been sure what Loki would do when he first heard the rumors that he'd somehow birthed a monstrous offspring. He might have been hurt, or he might have been angry; Tyr had feared that the added humiliation would push the boy back into his shell, where he'd hidden ever since Odin had first begun to abuse him.

Instead, he'd embraced the title, he and his friend Fandral embellishing the tale themselves and watching to see how and where it spread, and then laughing themselves silly over what they heard coming back to them.

"Well, I am his mother, practically," he'd explained with a shrug one night. "Master Torfi and I are the ones who take turns feeding him, and I'm the only one who spends the night with him when he's lonely."

Three years had passed, and Sleipnir had weaned and grown into a fine blue dun stallion, a bit on the darker side, perfect in every way except for his extra legs, and even there he was clean-limbed and strong. Loki had ridden him in a few informal races, "not for a prize, that would be unfair to the others, but just to see how he'll do," and also partly to show him off and stir up the rumor-mongers even more. Sleipnir had outclassed the other horses to a degree that was almost embarrassing; he was better served racing against the skiffs that covered the long distances across Idavoll than pitting himself against any earthly steed. Even the most grudging of admirers had to admit that the kenning "King of Horses" was well-earned.

He'd proven to be highly intelligent, as well, when Loki and Torfi had begun training him together; eager to learn, and sensitive to the slightest cues, he was shaping up to be one of the best warhorses Tyr had ever seen, although neither he nor Loki had yet encountered their first true battle. He tolerated Tyr in the saddle well enough, and the general found his odd gaits to be so smooth that he suspected Sleipnir could carry even the most grievously wounded rider to safety without endangering them.

He'd recently developed another little trick, too.

"Here, Father, he's done it twice already. I'm sure you'll be able to see it this time."

"I hope you're right," Tyr told his son. "I don't at all mind your excitement, you know that, but missing Sleipnir's performance every time is becoming a bit of an irritation." He smiled as he said it, and ruffled Loki's hair. The boy only grinned back at him, and led him onward.

Sleipnir was in his own pasture, feeling the joy of a beautiful summer day, rearing and bucking and only coming down to tear across the field and back, tossing his head and spinning in tight circles just because he could.

Loki laughed, but said nothing, likely not wanting to distract the horse from his antics. Sleipnir cocked one ear their way anyway, but instead of coming toward them, he began to gallop at full speed across the pasture.

"He's doing it, he's doing it!" Loki whispered, barely keeping himself from hopping in place like a child.

Tyr watched closely as Sleipnir headed full-tilt toward the rapidly approaching trees; he stood straighter when it became clear that the horse was not slowing down. Just as he was about to call out, try to turn Sleipnir aside before he killed himself—

—Sleipnir vanished.

"You see? I told you! Isn't it amazing?"

Tyr's eyebrows were climbing his forehead. "Well, I'm damned." He turned to look at his son, beaming brighter than the sun overhead. "He does this often?"

"When the mood strikes him," Loki said with a grin.

"And he's always returned—by which I mean, you've not found him elsewhere before he made his way back?"

"He knows where home is," said Loki. "The longest he was ever gone was an hour."

"I wonder how long he'll be gone this—" Tyr was interrupted by the horse reappearing in the middle of the pasture, still at a run but clearly not in the same place he'd started. This time he wheeled and ran up to them, slowing for Loki to give him a pat.

"What's this you're covered in, silly creature?" he was asking, as a cloud of yellow rose from under his hand. Sleipnir's blue-gray back was sprinkled all over in powder. "Where do you go when you do that, hm? Did you visit Fandral and get covered in flour?"

Tyr blinked at a hint of pale blue-purple sticking out of the horse's mane. "I think he goes a bit farther afield than that," he said, reaching up.

"Father?" Loki ducked under Sleipnir's neck to see. Three years, now, and Tyr still got a warm feeling in his chest whenever Loki called him that.

The general showed the boy what he'd pulled from Sleipnir's mane: a sprig of tiny, blue-purple flowers, all in a row like a string of jewels. Their pollen coated his fingertips; he'd know these flowers anywhere, and there was only one place they could be found, in all the Nine Realms. "What do you suppose your horse is getting up to in _Vanaheim_?"

The look on his son's face, wide-eyed with shock, was priceless, but only for a moment. Then he began to smile, followed by a wicked-seeming grin, as he said, "I'm going to get him to show _me_ how to do that!"

_**End.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to leave extra kudos, you're welcome to stop by [my Tumblr blog](http://peaceheather.tumblr.com) and say hello.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Foal: Sleipnir](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6427468) by [deutschistklasse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deutschistklasse/pseuds/deutschistklasse)




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